


Scents of Belonging

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://johncroftianlullaby.tumblr.com/post/36791962147/winter-drawing-writing-challenge">Winter Writing/Drawing Challenge</a> Day 09 - Fireplace/Candles</p><p>Greg is pretty sure Sherlock hates scented candles. Turns out, he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scents of Belonging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mybelovedcheshire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybelovedcheshire/gifts).



"Sherlock!" Greg exclaimed. He'd just walked into his own house to see Sherlock screwing up the sitting room. Notable knickknacks from the shelves were sitting on the ground in a sad sort of pile, he'd thrown the afghan to the floor, and he was rearranging the pillows.

What's worse was it wasn't the first time. This both explained a lot and brought up more than a few questions.

"Hello, Lestrade," Sherlock said, as if there were nothing wrong with the behavior.

"First of all," Greg said, "I told you I'd get back to you. I didn't say come on over."

"You gave me a key," Sherlock pointed out.

"Because you break in anyway," Greg retorted. "Now, what are you doing? Seriously. I thought this was one of Linda's friends getting back at us, or else her sister, or something."

"No, just me," said Sherlock.

"Let me guess," Greg said, watching as Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the scented candles in the middle of the wire tree thing they were sat in on the coffee table, pulling them out one by one, setting them on the floor. "You can't take the stimulation of the patterns, or the mundanity of the room, or something. And those smell too strongly for your detective nose."

"No. Though, mundanity would be correct."

Greg didn't get an explanation out of the man.

***

"Why do you keep asking about how things are with Linda? Do you...know something?"

"What would there be to know?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, I'm just curious."

"Okay, well, it's starting to creep me out, Sherlock. You don't...do you fancy her?"

"Lestrade, there are few people I fancy less."

"Ah. Okay. Good. I think." Greg gave Sherlock a strange look. "Should I be insulted?"

"Probably," Sherlock said. "Though, for other reasons than the ones you're thinking."

***

"Sherlock, you can't just burst in here. Especially not at midnight."

"Linda's out, and you're not sleeping." Sherlock settled into his usual seat. "I'll take a coffee," he said. By the time Greg returned with the coffee, the peach-scented candle in the shining jeweled base was sat on the floor.

"You keep doing that," Greg said.

"Yes."

"Why the candles? I mean, you stopped with the rest, by the why the candles?"

Sherlock shrugged.

***

"Sherlock, just get it over with."

Sherlock gazed at Greg questioningly. "What are you talking about?" he finally asked.

"The candle thing. Here, allow me." Greg reached out to grab the big blue scented candle in the center of the table, but Sherlock stopped him.

"Leave it," he said. 

"What? Why?"

"John has one too. That's clearly from Sally."

"...And? What difference does that make?"

"Well, for one, Sally's not cheating on you."

The color drained out of Greg's face. "Out," he said. "Leave."

To Sherlock's credit, he did, and in a very timely manner.

***

"I'd like my key back."

"I'll just pick your lock."

Greg held out his hand insistently.

Sherlock's expression turned to disappointment. "It's at my flat," he said. "I'll return it to you in a timely manner. Now, what is this about?"

Greg shrugged. "It just feels weird, is all."

"You don't want me to embarrass Linda. We both know what she's up to. You've seen the signs. You've hinted at it. So don't act like mentioning it is some crime."

Greg felt embarrassed. "Sherlock, we can't talk about it." He crossed his arms and looked away. "Not one word."

Sherlock sighed. "I'll return your key."

"You don't have to," said Greg quickly. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. Because I'm not going to stay quiet, so I'll just stay away instead."

He turned, and Greg watched him leave with a sense of loss pricking at his heart.

***

When Sherlock returned the key, he followed the gesture by turning, intending not to talk to Greg, but Greg caught his coat.

"Hey. Sherlock, wait."

Sherlock paused, waited, didn't make an effort to turn back toward Greg.

Greg, feeling awkward, said, "How long have you known about...?"

Sherlock's shoulder's lowered. He bowed his head slightly as he answered. "Since the first time I came round."

Greg released the coat in surprise, his hand flying up to cover his mouth, his eyes wide.

Sherlock made his careful escape.

***

Greg pulled Sherlock away from John's side. "Here," he said, handing the key back. "Take it."

"I'd rather not," Sherlock said. "You were quite clear when you told me I don't have a place butting into your personal life."

"I was shocked and hurt. I'm not gonna offer this again."

Sherlock snatched the key from him. "Fine. Shut up." He hesitated. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, but, don't mention it. We both know I'm one who gives second chances."

"What is this," Sherlock said, pocketing the key, "chance number seven? She really needs a hobby."

Greg sucked in a breath through his nose. "Talk to Sally if you need anything," he said in a quiet tone. "I've got, um."

Greg made his excuses and left, not looking back to catch Sherlock's expression, not knowing whether he'd looked sad, or quizzical, or if he'd even changed expression at all. He called a cab with tears pricking at his eyes.

He came home and saw Linda's smile, felt warmed by her pleased surprise at his early return home. He didn't mind the scent of her pumpkin and spice candle, the way the room seemed warmer, seemed so _Linda_. 

He enjoyed her dinner, warm for its first time instead of its second.

Second chances...seventh chances...weren't a bad thing. 

***

Greg was up, and the candle was lit. Pumpkin spice again, warm like an embrace.

"Hi," Sherlock said.

Greg looked up. "Hey." He reached over to the end table, offered Sherlock a nicotine patch. "Here to think?"

Sherlock's mouth tilted awkwardly. "No," he said. "Er. May I...?" He leaned toward the table, licked his fingertips, reached out.

"I want it to stay lit, actually."

Sherlock jerked his hand back and straightened up. He sat down right next to Greg, for a change.

"I think you don't understand that you don't deserve the way she ignores the commitment she has to you."

Greg's voice was low with a dangerous tilt, was laced with barely-hidden pain. " _Sherlock_."

"For all you claim to be a good listener, I need you to listen now. She's not satisfied."

Greg let out a breath, felt the warmth around them leave, felt like he'd been deflated. 

"That's...I mean to say...that she's got unfair expectations."

"Because I'm strange," Greg choked out. "Damaged. Not, er. Not up to the job. I get it."

"You understand _nothing_ ," Sherlock muttered darkly. "This is not about you being in any way inadequate. She just wants something different, not better. It doesn't matter how great a run you've had in the past; you're not suited to each other anymore."

"Oh, and you're some relationship expert now!" Greg scoffed. He licked his fingertips and put the candle out himself. "You wouldn't know a relationship if anyone was daft enough to get into one with you."

Sherlock stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, blazed down at Greg with just his eyes. "You're lashing out at me. This isn't how you actually feel."

Greg looked up at him for a moment, puzzled. He took a few deep, calming breaths, and said, "You know, you're right, Sherlock. That was...that was uncalled for. I did lash out, and you didn't deserve it. You're not...I mean, you're not perfect, and God knows I'm not, but I don't doubt there's someone out there for you. Just look at how fond of you Miss Hooper is."

"She's not my type."

"Do you have a type?" Greg asked gently, trying to lighten the mood. 

Sherlock stared hard at Greg for a moment, wondering whether to take offense. Finally, he sat down again, in his usual spot. "I might," he said.

"I'm not good at putting my foot down," Greg said. "I mean...she's not the first person who's ever gone elsewhere to have a bit of fun."

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said quietly.

"Erm. Thank you. Coffee?"

"Love some," Sherlock said thoughtfully.

***

"Couldn't help but notice your lack of a wedding ring. I'm glad."

"Yeah, well," Greg said with a wince. "Figured you'd be. Sadistic bastard."

"I'm not a sadist."

"I know," Greg said with a sigh. "Though you don't mind watching people in pain, do you?"

Sherlock's lip quirked. "For what it's worth...I think you deserve better than her, but I also think you deserve better than to have to go through a divorce."

Greg eyed Sherlock for sincerity. "Thanks," he said after a moment. He smiled slightly.

***

"What's this?"

"Housewarming present."

"You really are Mycroft's brother."

"I'm going to leave."

"No, don't. This place is empty and I hate it," Greg complained.

"I still appreciate the lack of Linda," Sherlock said, handing Greg a scented candle.

"What's this smell like, then?" Greg said, turning it to look. "Lavender. Beats the smell of this flat, I'm sure. Thanks, Sherlock."

"Don't mention it. Really. Don't."

Greg chuckled. "I was gonna unpack a bit more. Would you like to help?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but he didn't say no.

***

"Thanks," Greg said. "I appreciate the help."

"You should force Mycroft to come by. This place really does have quite the unique odor."

"Let's light this candle, then." Greg went to find the matches. "Thanks, by the way, for not bringing John. Not that I dislike him or anything, but...."

"It's nicer when it's just the two of us. Obvious," Sherlock pointed out. 

"You know why she left, don't you?"

"She wanted something different. People change. They can't help it."

"Would you?"

Sherlock stared at Greg in surprise.

"I'm not stupid. I've cared about you for a long time, especially in the moments where Linda seemed so far away. I know my fair share about how to deduce you."

Sherlock bowed once at that. 

"I think you understand a lot about the situation with Linda. I think you know what didn't work for her, and I don't know that it'd work for you, but I don't know that it wouldn't."

"Yes," Sherlock said quickly. "Yes, we should try it."

"Not just yet," Greg said. "I mean, it's too soon afterward. Isn't it?"

"That's for you to say, not me."

Greg raised an eyebrow in thought. "Right now, I don't know my left from my right. My head is spinning."

Sherlock gave Greg a soft look. "You don't want to be alone tonight."

"No," Greg said. "I don't."

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Okay."

Sherlock called John and said not to expect him back until morning.

Greg slept much better than he'd expected to in the new flat, knowing Sherlock was in the next room on the sofa, knowing he'd be safe from harm, and safe from the pain of being alone.

***

When he complained via text that his flat was cold because they were working on the heating, he expected Sherlock to ignore the text or to reply with something witty and cutting.

He didn't expect Sherlock to stop by, and he certainly didn't expect to find himself next to Sherlock in the bed, curling an arm around Sherlock, having one curled around him in turn. 

***

He took Sherlock's loss hard, but, for some reason, he wasn't as lost as he'd felt when Linda had left him. He still felt he had a purpose. He moved forward, didn't let what had happened change the way he saw his Sherlock very much. He knew a side of Sherlock no one else knew.

***

Greg fiddled with his scarf as he removed it. A gentle peace came over him at the scent of the candle burning, even though it shouldn't have been burning anymore. "Thought I'd put you out," he said, eyeing it as he stepped into the sitting room.

"You did," a voice called, "but I'm very persistent."

Greg stared at the candle, froze, stood there afraid to move in case it was a ghost, in case he was dreaming.

Sherlock slowly approached, his footsteps and shadow very real. He carefully wrapped his arms around Greg from behind. "I'm back," he said lowly. "I owe you an explanation. And you'll get it."

Greg leaned back into the embrace. "Later," he said. "For now, I just want this."

Sherlock chuckled, gave him a bit of a squeeze. "I figured." He sighed, closed his eyes, inhaled. "You smell like home," he murmured.

"Heh. Thanks!" Greg said with a smile, covering one of Sherlock's hands with his own. "Welcome back, Sherlock. Back in time for the holidays too."

"I'll make it a point not to leave like that again," Sherlock said faintly. "You know, I took your key with me everywhere."

Greg grinned at the glow of the lit wick. "Glad I didn't change flats, then."

Sherlock hummed in agreement. "Yes, the fact that you didn't makes this much less awkward than it could have been," he smirked, watching as the little flame danced.


End file.
